The rumors are true

[numberthree]

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For Luther (@paulbunyan)

[numberthree]

[ From here ]


three. For the love of god, if any of you are up, bring me pants.

TFLN - July 31st

[numberthree]

EPISTOLARY • adjective, formal. involving or consisting of letter writing.

[obediences]

There's not that much to do, even after he's meticulously noted down all the new readings, listened to the meaningless distortion coming from outer space, and measured the steady tick of radio waves emanating from the Earth (sometimes he tunes into an oldies station and enjoys the distant staticky crackle of music from far away, the nearest thing he can get up here to his vinyl records).

Nothing ever happens.

It doesn't mean the threats aren't out there, though. So Luther keeps neat and orderly notes. A daily log. There are notebooks and notebooks, and measurements and measurements to pin down, to keep himself busy — and even then, there's not enough to fill up all those hours. He reads. He works out in the low gravity, as best he can in that tight and cramped space, trying to keep his muscles from atrophying (he doesn't entirely succeed). He reads. And reads.

And after a while, he starts to repurpose some of those notebooks for something other than their intended purpose, and starts to write.

( Scraps of paper and experimental poetry, crumpled up and thrown into the recycler: )

for the third, who is also the first in

for the only girl who ever


there are 8760 hours in a year
and until now—i had never considered the weight of those particular numbe

( A piece of paper carefully-copied out by hand, folded neatly in half as if meant to go into an envelope. And then, it's eventually tucked away between the pages of another book, forgotten and unsent. )

Among the men and women the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I am,
Some are baffled, but that one is not—that one knows me.

Ah lover and perfect equal,
I meant that you should discover me so by my faint indirections,
And I when I meet you mean to discover you by the like in you.

— "AMONG THE MULTITUDE", WALT WHITMAN

( Letters, unfinished and also angrily crumpled. )

Dear Allison,
My dearest, Allison
   Rumor—
Dear

To Allison Hargreeves,
I feel incomplete without

( In the end, this is what finally makes it down from Lunar Base #00.01 in a capsule, earmarked for Pogo, and the butler forwards it onto the latest address he had on record for Allison Hargreeves, Los Angeles, California, USA. )

A,
How's LA? It looks like you're taking it by storm these days — Pogo sends me copies of your interviews sometimes. Seeing you in magazines again reminds me so much of the old days, so I guess some things haven't actually changed that much. Pogo and I caught the first Love on Loan before I shipped out, and watched it together; it was really funny. You looked ni

The mission goes on and on. I haven't given interviews in a while, but that's because there honestly isn't that much to report. Guess no news is good news when it comes to alien invasions though, haha—

I know we haven't spoken in a while, and I don't really know anything about your life out west. But I'd like to, if you want to tell me about it.
I don't know if you actually want to answer this. But if you write back to the house, Pogo ought to be able to get a reply up to me in the next supply shuttle. It's quiet up here; it'd be nice to read your words for a change, instead of all these books.

I miss you.

– L.


( Unfortunately, by the time it arrives she's already moved on to a larger house in a better zipcode, cutting her teeth on an even larger paycheck. The letter returns to the Academy mansion two weeks later, post-marked UNDELIVERABLE: RETURN TO SENDER. )

Thirsty Thursday

[onlyordinary]

Inspo

Vanya can't sleep. She's going through that time of life where no matter how hard she tries, she can't fall asleep before two or three in the morning, even when Dad insists on waking them all up at six. It's miserable.

She can't practice violin in the middle of the night, so Vanya has taken up walking around when she can't fall asleep, ghostly wanderings through the empty mansion. But tonight, she sees light in the attic. Vanya frowns, figuring that it's probably Klaus smoking again, but lacking anything else to do, she goes to investigate.

What she doesn't expect to see is Allison all alone up there with a lamp, surrounded by magazines.

"Allison?" Vanya mumbles as she climbs into the attic. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust, but then she sees the covers of the magazines.

Oh.

Vanya's cheeks turn red, her eyes lingering on the covers. Beautiful men and women naked, bearing themselves to the photographer with their lips parted just a little.

"S-sorry," Vanya says. "Am I disturbing you?"

Five-Aged-Up-Post-S2 AU

[onlyordinary]

It takes a grand total of a day of Five being older and hotter for Vanya to take out her phone and text Allison.

Allison. I need your help. And also wine.

Mostly wine.